Someone to Stand For
by Bamfbugboy
Summary: Prequel to my story, Someone to Fight For. Starts at Act I's ending of the JC storyline and continues on through Balmorra.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: _Prequel to my main story Someone to Fight For. Begins right after Act I of the JC storyline, so spoilers for the Act I ending and on through Balmorra.  
_

* * *

**Someone to Stand For  
**

**Chapter One**

It's as if she's walking through a dense fog on a stormy day: her vision and her thoughts are blurry and slowed by a chill Gaerwen can't shake off.

Everything feels empty, hollow, and cool to the touch. The reality of what's happened hasn't yet crashed down upon her; she expects it will happen soon like water bursting from a dam. It's only a matter of time before her barriers crack. She doesn't want to lose it in front of the unsettling members of the Jedi Council nor her two crew members, both of whom are also grieving. Once they're back on the ship, safe and sound to fight and perhaps die another day, Gaerwen tells the droid to take off from Tython to head into deep space with no clear heading. The emptiness of space might be cathartic.

As the promise of escaping the others becomes a pressing need, she quietly excuses herself from Tharan, Holiday, and Qyzen to retreat to her quarters. Any longer and she'll crumble to pieces.

Once behind the safety and security of the door to her quarters, back pressed against the hard steel, her composure is gone. Gaerwen slides to the ground, covering her mouth but hardly able to stifle her sobs and hard, body-racking shudders. She curls in upon herself, pulling her knees to her chest, burying her head, tugging at her red hair with her hands until it hurts.

Twelve pages of names and five faces cross her mind, haunting words and images that she'll have to bear on her shoulders until the day she dies. She hopes that day will come soon; she isn't sure how much more of this she can physically and emotionally take—it's what everyone's waiting for, anyways. Everyone knows the fate of the one who stood against the plague milennia ago.

Gaerwen's strength hasn't returned despite the previous possibility for recovery, but she imagines her own grief has sapped it dry. Her hands shake, and her eyes hurt from being shut so hard until they've swollen.

Names and five faces—faces and names she should have been able to save. What did all of her own pain and anguish really mean if this was to be the end result? Did the ends justify the means? Did the means justify the ends? It's questions that deplete the last bit of her resolve, and she shakes her head roughly, as if attempting to rattle her brain so that it might snap from her brainstem or perhaps the guilty voice will slip out her ears if jostled around enough.

The Council had entrusted her to save lives; she was the only one who knew the technique. But what did it matter if the cure couldn't work in the end without a steep cost? It seems like a cruel trick and nothing more than a long, arduous nightmare.

Finally, when her eyes are much too sore and her body aches, she crawls to her bed and divests herself of her dirty clothes down to her breast-binder and a pair of tight shorts. Gaerwen's body screams in both relief and agony when she lays down under the soft, warm covers and sheets. In this sense it isn't right; safe and secure in the warmth of her bed at long last. In the end, she's only free from the questioning stares and muted sympathy. She'll battle her own doubt, will, loneliness, and sadness alone. That's not unusual; she's gone this far by herself, she'll keep pushing on until it kills her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Someone to Stand For  
**

**Chapter Two**

Wendy's tired of chasing what's beginning to seem like a ghost across Balmorra. She wants progress, and not progress that involves proving herself any further. She's a Jedi; she's automatically worthy of trust by reputation alone. Even then, she's done this "Zenith's" work for the past few days. Nonetheless, she swallows those annoyed feelings down and carries on.

Her and Doctor Cedrax step over the deceased Sith apprentice then stand over the quivering Imperial officer working under Darth Lachris as head of the droid factory, and Wendy wonders what she should do with him. The Jedi in her wants to cuff him and bring him in for questioning; the other half, the human individual, still wants revenge over the Empire and particularly the Sith—while Darth Lachris' arrogant apprentice had been an efficient, emotionless kill, this time her anger bristles and the officer's attitude isn't making it any easier.

"You won't kill me, I'm a prisoner of war, Jedi, and you won't break the Treaty—"

Gaerwen hears the blaster shot, feels it move through the Force, and twists around, igniting her lightsaber and watching Tharan dive to cover from the corner of her vision. She shoots down the blaster shot and it ricochets against the ground.

It's then she senses the other presence in the Force, someone with far more anger and unbridled rage than her own.

"Step aside," a gravely voice says from the rafter just above the three of them.

Gaerwen looks up and sees the lit laze of a sniper rifle, then looks down to see the red dot on her chest. She recognizes the voice—it's Zenith. She can't see anything more than a shadowy figure and the lazor's beam.

"No," she curtly says. "Come out of the shadows, Zenith."

"Not until he's dead." She hears the click of the rifle reloading. "So step aside." A pause. "Please."

Gaerwen looks from the now cowering Imperial back to the figure. She takes a deep breath and asks, "Is it necessary to kill him?"

"He's systematically taken part in rounding up civilians who refuse to work under his harsh conditions, ordered executions to those who protest; so yes, it's necessary to kill him."

"I-I haven't done any of that, that bloody liar just wants to see me dead!"

Wendy nods and sheathes her lightsaber. "I'm sorry Zenith. I didn't know. Go ahead."

She steps aside.

The shot rings out and hits the officer squarely in the head. Wendy closes her eyes and looks back up to the rafter.

"Thank you."

She's taken aback by the words. She sighs. "Are you going to show yourself now?"

"Here isn't safe. Come to the safehouse."

"No, Zenith, come out now! I think I deserve to know who I'm working with."

The figure clicks the safety on his rifle and slings it over his shoulder. He remains knelt there, staring down at her; then, he shifts his position, moving his legs over the ledge, and hops down from the shadows. A Twi'lek who's taller and bigger than her lands before her. His yellow skin is dusty, and his lekku have darker lines going down from the base to the tip. He wears tattered leather clothes with his rifle holster's strap coming across his chest diagonally. The shadows and low lights play off his features, but his purple eyes show no remorse, no pleasantries, and no kindness. The crease lines on his brow further the understanding that he's a veteran of a war he's still fighting.

"Gaerwen Aurell," she extends her hand, hoping he'll take it and the gesture can be over. Her shoulder aches from where the Sith slammed her against the nearby terminal.

Instead Zenith folds his arms across his chest. Wendy frowns.

"Well you can call me Wendy if you'd like instead, it's much more informal."

With a gruff exhale, he gives in and takes her extended hand and shakes it. His grip is firm and his gloves are rough. "Zenith."

She gestures to the two dead Imperials after letting go of his hand. "Lachris will he unhappy, I'm sure. Is there a plan to rebuff against retribution?"

"The plan at this point is that Balmorrans are willing to die for the cause."  
Zenith folds his arms across his chest, and Wendy sees no room for changing his opinion or altering his "plan".

"They know what they stand for, what they're fighting for. Don't worry about us. We've managed with less."

Wendy glares at Zenith and sighs. She raises her hands in defeat and concedes. "Fine. I get it. You don't trust me or like me or think I'll be of any help. Well, I'm here to tell you that I am here to help. I don't expect the other two, but we need to work together if we're going to make an actual dent in Lachris' work. Are you really going to deny help?"

Zenith snorts. He glares back at her.

"I take the silence as a no, you're not. So let me be of help. What's our next move?"

"Meet me at the safe house. Not safe to talk here."

"Very well. I'll expect you there."

* * *

Outside the droid factory, Tharan laughs and scratches the back of his neck. "Charming, isn't he? I've never met a more diplomatic man. He'll make a great politician someday."

Wendy rolls her eyes. If it weren't for the seriousness of the situation as they trek back to the Resistance base to take a shuttle back to Bugtown, she might have laughed at the idea of someone like Zenith ever making political office.


	3. Chapter 3

**Someone to Stand For**

**Chapter Three**

"Can you hand me the flint and tinder?"

Zenith digs into her bag and hands her the requested items. A moment later the small fire's made, and they huddle around their own personal fire amongst the larger Republic encampment on Balmorra. It's just the two of them—or at least they're the only two awake, Tharan's fast asleep and snoring a few meters away with Holiday's dimmed hologram curled against him. The soldiers who'll be storming the Balmorran Arms Factory tomorrow morning at sunset in search of Darth Lachris have their own encampment separate from the Resistance, as despite whatever progress, tensions caused by the feeling of past betrayal and abandonment are still high.

Zenith's presence is different than the company of Tharan or Qyzen. He's quiet and reserved, but she's seen his combat technique and found it impressive. His good aim, precision and accuracy, and quick feet have saved them time, efficiency, and his own life she imagines. They eat a few ration bars and then lay down against the stiff earth with her head uncomfortably resting on top of her small satchel and Zenith leaning against a large boulder. The fire casts a warm glow over them both, and the evening's mild enough that she doesn't need to use her outer robes as a blanket.

Gaerwen can hear the low chatter of the other soldiers in the relative peace of evening but the silence between her and Zenith makes her uncomfortable. She wants to talk about something, _anything_ to calm her nerves and help her fall asleep amidst this warzone. If they want to make it out of this mess alive, she knows she'll need at least a few hours of sleep. She turns her gaze up to the large expanse of night sky. After having traveled for days on starships prior to her landing on Balmorra, and then in the midst of helping the Resistance, she hasn't had a chance to appreciate having a sea of stars above her head.

"It's nice to see that the Imperials haven't claimed the stars themselves."

When she gets nothing but more silence, Gaerwen sighs, turns her head, and sees that his attention is also transfixed upon the sky.

Finally he says, "Imps can't have everything."

"My father and I used to enjoy star-gazing when I was young, before I formally entered the Order. I was just a little girl but I enjoyed it dearly. I remember the last night together we shared, just the three of us, my parents and I as a family, we just sat out on the balcony of our small home on Coruscant. We didn't have a telescope, so we could only use our eyes. It calmed my nerves before the next day; I was scared I wouldn't see them again for a long time. You know how the Order is."

Suddenly she realizes just how much she's revealed to someone she imagines doesn't necessarily care about her childhood—why would he afterall amidst the bigger issues? When Zenith doesn't comment either way, Gaerwen takes it as a sign that he's either tuned her out or at least listened to her but doesn't have anything to say. She smiles half-heartedly; at least he didn't shut her down.

"Don't suppose you know any constellations?"

Zenith glances toward her and nods. "A few."

She blinks and waits for him to share his knowledge, but it doesn't happen, and once again she has to prompt him to speak.

"Well aren't you going to indulge me?"

He points upward at an indistinct star amongst the thousands above them.

"There's Ragnos. It's the brightest set of stars in the Northern Balmorran sky. He's a warrior. You can see his sword point outward, poised for battle."

Even though it's hard to separate the clusters and focus on finding the aforementioned stars, she's glad that he's sharing at the very least. Zenith shares several more constellations, and she finds it fascinating. The discussion of stars calms her and helps her become more comfortable. It's easier to talk to him when it's not inflamed with the urgency of combat or the necessary quick thinking brought on by tough decisions. It's a good distraction from the pressing matters regarding the war.

"Any others?"

"Southwest of Ragnos there's a constellation called 'Erosnae'. It's two sets of stars that represent two people."

"Are they friends?"

"Partners."

Gaerwen nods and smiles wistfully. "What's their legend say?"

"Says they died on Balmorra together. People who believe in the Force say that it blessed them for their good deeds and gave them a place in the night sky where they could always be together. Death couldn't separate them."

She squints up at the sky and grows excited when she finds the cluster she believes he's describing. "I think I see it. I'd need an actual star chart to make it out clearly…But the story, I mean, doesn't it sound…I don't know, a little more profound than just being friends? In fact they sound more like lovers."

Zenith snorts and shrugs. "Hell if I know, they're just stars and sentimental stories."

In the end, she knows he's right. He's indulged her curiosity this much, and that's more than she expected to begin with. "So, who taught you all this?"

"Scientist who used to be in the Resistance. Spoke out against Darth Lachris in the early years of occupation. Appealed to science and reason to help garner support for the Resistance when morale died out after some bad failures. Captured eventually and died in a labor camp by a firing squad, according to a few who escaped."

Gaerwen frowns and sits up. She unfolds her arms and reaches out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Oh, stars, I'm—"

Zenith recoils and leans away from her. "I don't want to hear it. He died for the cause." He sighs. "That's all that matters."

Suddenly the relaxed feeling disappears.

_Do you really see yourself as expendable?_

"Oh…well," she then resettles into the same uncomfortable position. "I'm sorry for your loss regardless. For him to have taught you something personally…well, it's a testament to your camaraderie. You'll always have something to remember him by. Constellations."

Gaerwen understands partially; he doesn't want her pity, but it's far from pity. It's empathy, yet it's not something he wants at this time from an off-worlder and a near stranger. Though her goals are political and for the Republic, it's never stopped Gaerwen from forming an intense relationship with officials and civilians—unlike distant politicians and Jedi thousands of parsecs away, she's seen first hand what this war has done to the Balmorran people.

She knows all too well what it's like to have lost people close to her; those wounds are still fresh. She isn't sure if she's saying these things for herself or for him and for a moment that alarms her—_am I being selfish?_ In the stillness of the evening, it's not hard to remember those whom she's lost—

_No_, she tells herself after shutting her eyes tight. _Not tonight. Not now._

Gaerwen glances back to Zenith, who's grown quiet himself, and she sees that he's fallen asleep, which isn't surprising given how exhausted he understandably is. There's plenty of weights upon his own shoulders and she too can sympathize with that. Tomorrow is a bigger deal for him than it is for her.

"Well, goodnight, Zenith," Gaerwen whispers. She offers a hopeful smile to his sleeping form, and she's happy to conclude that it's the first one she hasn't faked in several weeks. "Thanks for sharing." She chews on her lip and then adds. "In the military, they say 'good hunting', or at least that's what my cousin Billie says. Well, good hunting tomorrow. We'll need it." Her smile softens as closes her eyes and shifts her position in order to start drifting off to sleep. Immediately her head feels heavier and her voice slurs, "Maybe you can channel some of Ragnos against those Imps."


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm not sure, however, if Zenith made it out alive. His… last transmission sounded grave. The Imperials were close in on them, Tai."

"Master Jedi, let me assure you, the sacrifices of Zenith and the Resistance will not be forgotten."

Gaerwen nods and clasps her hands behind her back before the terminal and hologram. Those aren't easy words to hear; she had hoped that Zenith and his soldiers would have returned about the same time as her. Her eyes close and nothing but darkness awaits her—always darkness.

_You lost another one._ She sighs and tries to hold herself together, but her conscience, or something more, will not have any of that. _You lost him again._

_Again?_

"You should always watch your back. Never know what might sneak up on you."

Gaerwen opens her eyes and turns to see Zenith come towards them, battered and bruised, with blood stains, dirt, and sweat; none of that bothers her. Relief washes over her and despite being in the presence of Tharan, Tai Cordan, and a Balmorran citizen, she runs to him and embraces him.  
Immediately Zenith stiffens against her but does not shove her away.

"I thought I'd lost you," _again_.

"Takes more than a squad of Imperials to kill me."

That wakes Gaerwen up; she looks up, untangles herself from him with quick movements and steps back. She curls a few strands of hair behind her ear, looks away, and tries to hide her flush of embarrassment. She stumbles an apology, anxiously looking to and from his eyes, and to her surprise, she sees a momentary flash of understanding and awareness. Though he does not verbally reply, he nods.

Tai Cordan coughs over the holo transmission, "Now, where were we Master Aurell…"

* * *

The light dies from her hands and the wretched sound that follows is a cross between a whimper and a groan. Gaerwen leans against the nearby table's edge and tries to catch her breath. At some point, she finally realizes, she's going to have to actually address her own health issues.

"Did…did it work?" She coughs and she feels parched.

Zenith looks from her to the president, and to their dismay, the man is still blundering with his words and making little sense.

"He's not corrupted," Zenith sighs, "just broken by Imperial torture. Lachris' torture, likely."

All for naught, once again. Gaerwen stands up straight, pretends to brush off dust and grime from her robes, and attempts to find her own center of gravity again. Her head feels dizzy and light, and the throbbing at the base of her neck feel as if she's been hit with a blunt object.

"Not everything can be healed," he growls.

This causes her to laugh, if only because of the morose irony of the whole ordeal that's too hard to ignore.

"We just need him to sign his name, and that should pass over power without trouble."

"And you propose to do that how exactly?"

"There's a chip some scientists were working on for the Imperials. The Resistance got its hands on it, and we've used it on captured Imperials. Manipulates brain waves to—"

"No, no, we can't do that. From what you're beginning to describe, it doesn't sound ethical. This is the president of Balmorra you're talking about. The people won't have that, and I most certainly won't allow that."

"In the end, it'll kill him. Do you think he wants to live like this?"

"I'm not the one to make that kind of judgment call. This needs to happen traditionally. The people need to know."

Zenith shakes his head. "You don't understand. If the Balmorran people see their president like this, broken and beaten, they'll think the Empire's won, then they'll lose hope."

"Lose hope?" She folds her arms across her chest and frowns. "On the contrary, I believe it would cause the opposite. I think this would spark more anger towards the remaining Imperials and it would be something for Balmorra to work against. Balmorra's president does not realize it, but his sacrifice, literally losing his mind, it's made him a martyr. A martyr to your cause. The Balmorran people deserve to know the truth. This will not break them, Zenith." Gaerwen pauses and sighs. "Please, trust my judgment on this. I trusted your advice these past few weeks. You've fought beside me. I've seen what the Empire's done to Balmorra. I want the Empire to pay just as much as you. Give me at least this parcel of your faith."

Zenith unfolds his arms and doesn't hesitate further. "Fine. But whatever happens, it's on you. Are you willing to carry that?"

"Of course. Carrying great burdens is what makes us stronger."

* * *

Tai steps forward and immediately transforms into the leader and guiding light that Balmorra needs in this desperate beginning. His words soothe and inspire the gathered group of citizens from Bugtown.

"We will embark on this new journey together, as Balmorrans reunited and joined towards restoring our home to its prowess as a Core World." He steps back partially and gestures to Zenith. "Now, I couldn't have done this without the aid of the Resistance, whom many of you know kept the fire burning bright even in the darkest moments during this oppression. Zenith, you and your comrades have my thanks, gratitude, and respect. The years of sacrifice you all have made was not for naught."

The crowd cheers. Gaerwen joins in on their applause and offers him a small smile. Zenith stands and looks over the crowd, and she can sense how moved he is by this gesture. She imagines it hasn't fully hit him yet. She doesn't need to say "I told you so" to him; this is enough of a reward for her.

"And Jedi Master Gaerwen Aurell, who's compassion and strength against the Empire shall inspire the healing process."

The crowd humbles her, and a few patrons ask that she offer some words of advice and guidance to harken this new chapter in Balmorra's history. Gaerwen steps forward, presses her hands against the railing, bows her head, and does her best to continue emulating the compassion and strength Tai described of her.

"The road to full recovery will be long and arduous. It will test your patience and your endurance, but that's the beauty of freedom. It takes work. It takes diligence. You've come this far, and I know you will endure and you will heal, each and every one of you. Give Balmorra the same energy you exerted in freeing her, and I have no doubt in my mind that all will be well and Balmorra will be successful once again—" Gaerwen pauses abruptly as a spike of pain sharply overcomes her. Nonetheless, she persists. "The… the future's now. Yours and Bal—"

She closes her eyes tightly and presses her palm to her warm head. She swallows hard, rubs the bridge of her nose, and when she lowers her palm, she sees that there is blood. Her eyes widen and panic overtakes her—this has never happened in the presence of others.

Something snaps inside of her; the throbbing returns, her pulse quickens, and her breathing becomes ragged. Her hearing goes first, and every sound seems distant and muffled. Then her eyesight, which blurs. Her knees give out, her balance is lost, and she falls unconscious.

* * *

Zenith stands behind Master Aurell, who's plan has followed through and impressed him. He's not surprised that she's able to stimulate the crowd and encourage them to believe her little speech of hope. He hasn't met many Jedi, but he knows they're well-versed in talking, and those he has met were just that—all talk. But not this Jedi. She's surprised him and challenged him in more ways than one in the three weeks that they've spent working together to instigate a break in Balmorra's oppression. For success at long last, he's thankful for her help.

He leans against the wall of the smaller bunker in the middle of Bugtown's desolate, toxic wastes, and he watches her closely as he watches most everyone he's ever come in contact with. The possibility and threat of betrayal or corruption never typically leaves his thoughts, but for once, in this Jedi's presence, Zenith lowers his guard—if only partially—and listens to this Jedi talk. He knows he's earned a chance to breathe the free air.

"…Give Balmorra the same energy you exerted in freeing her, and I have no doubt in my mind that all will be well and Balmorra will be successful once again—" The Jedi pauses and that raises an alarm. "The… the future's now. Yours and Bal—"

Zenith watches her rub her head, grip the railing, and when her palm lowers, he sees traces of blood in her hand. A moment later, she loses her balance and collapses. Zenith steps forward quickly and catches her before she falls to the metal floor. Panic erupts as the citizens question Tai for answers, and Tai looks behind him and urges Zenith to remove the ailed Jedi.

"Take her to her ship. Stay there. I have some small business to attend to there. There's also a matter I'd like to discuss with you and her. I'll contact her crew to meet you at the orbital station."

Zenith nods, lifts her limp form into his arms, and leaves the bunker.

"Now, now, citizens, please, the Jedi is likely exhausted, but as you heard, you have her goodwill…"

As he leaves, Zenith hears the crowd dies down. He scoffs down at the unconscious woman in his arms and heads to the shuttle bay.

* * *

The Jedi wakes as he walks through Balmorra's small orbital station after having arrived via a shuttle from the planet's surface. Her robes smell horribly like Collicoid guts, but it's a smell he's familiar with and can tolerate. She stirs in his arms, weak at first.

"_Zelos?_" She mutters as her eyes flutter open.

"It's _Zenith_. Not Zelos. Get it right."

The Jedi blinks, comes to understand that something's happened, and she asks him to let her up. He carefully helps her stand, and she temporarily leans against him for support.

"I don't know who Zelos is."

"What?" She rubs her neck and cracks it. "Sorry. I'm just a little disoriented."

"Probably breathed in too many toxic fumes."

The Jedi shrugs. "Maybe. I don't know. Balmorra sure does have a long way to go."

"Whatever it takes. Worked this hard, it's going to mean something in the end."

"Of course. I understand."

As they walk back to her ship, passing by food and drink vendors and item kiosks, she stops leaning on him and smiles half-heartedly. "It must feel good. After all these years."

"It's not over yet."

"You have the right to breathe a little easier, you know. For the most part the war's over. Lachris is dead."

Zenith glances toward her and snorts. "It's like you said. Balmorra still has a long way to go."

"But that doesn't mean you can't stop and, I don't know, smell the newly blossoming flowers?"

He blinks, raises a brow, and her smile grows partially. "It's just an expression." She raises a hand to rub her chin. "No, no. Actually, don't smell the flowers. Look to the stars. You're more of a stargazer than a flower-smeller. Don't forget to stop and look at the stars once in awhile."

Zenith wonders if she's all together in the head after her fall. She appears fine, for the most part, exhausted, surely, but together. They approach the elevator to her ship's airlock, and as their boots clank against the solid metal, the same sense of familiarity overcomes him—_that's just who she is_.

"Anyways, Zenith, I imagine we won't have much time once we're onboard. It's a bit of a mess on my ship. I just recently got an influx of new crewmates who are rather picky and expect me to bend to their every whim and need—and _no_ that's not an exaggeration as much as I wish it was." She steps off the elevator into her ship's airlock and sighs. "What I'm trying to say is thanks. Thanks for helping me out. I have one less problem to worry about."

Zenith stops her from walking further, and he stares at her in silence for several moments. She raises a brow and clasps her hands in front of her. "What?" She rubs her nose and shrugs. "Is my nose still bleeding?"

She's thanking _him_, after she's the one who systematically helped orchestrate the events that brought about Balmorra's freedom after squads upon squads of Republic soldiers and diplomats themselves had failed. For a moment he's speechless, bereft of anything to say. Finally, he finds his voice again.

"Thank you, Master Aurell."

"Just Gaerwen, please. And it was my pleasure."


End file.
